I’m also preparing to adapt the blog to some scripting, I’ll keep you posted on that.

]]>http://escargot.ventdaval.com/2011/communication-issues/feed3Thee Mountainhttp://escargot.ventdaval.com/2011/thee-mountain
http://escargot.ventdaval.com/2011/thee-mountain#commentsThu, 09 Jun 2011 17:52:26 +0000http://escargot.ventdaval.com/?p=226Today I realized why I’ve been listening to a band for three days straight and, as a friend said, probably for the whole week.
Oh, the synchrony.

This is a sample track from their last album, Kollaps Tradixionales.Thee Silver Mount Zion (and their endless different names) are a band of canadian musicians, most of them related with the Godspeed You! Black Emperor act.

You have all probably heard about the volcano eruption in south Chile, that has spread its ashes all over its vicinity. In General Roca we lost two days worth of lessons because of it, and it’s not really over yet, the film school opened its doors again, but the air still feels like a cheap dry martini.

Today the ashes from the Puyehue Vulcano, six hundred kilometers away from here, fell and then swirled with the furious winds of General Roca. The sun was shining through the clouds and the whole mood of the skies fell upon the city like no other day of autumn has ever done.
The horizon was veiled with a layer of dust and smoke and ashes, merged with the misty clouds above, so I decided to venture into the wilderness around me and see if there were any reminders of the ashy greetings from Chile.

There was none.

After some wandering I met a couple of dogs barking through the dried weeds. Near some fruit trees there was a person, cleaning and carrying wood.

His name is Oscár. He was born in General Roca and has always been here. He works in this small farm three days a week, cleaning and keeping an eye on the dogs, an ostrich and the house.

I’ve always thought that staying in this arid and dry lands is part of a statement, a solid decision of wanting this, of liking this, of being in love with whatever is of your appeal. A conscious shout to the skies saying, “This is what I want”.
Oscár heralded this proudly. He couldn’t be happier. Even working in something that looks meaningless and eternal -wouldn’t that be an ulterior goal for anyone?- seemed to cheer his heart with joy.

I don’t know what it is, I don’t know where it is and I don’t know if it even is something. But there’s true beauty somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Video-haikus might be the most pretentious and artsy attempt of communication. But hell, I get the chance of getting a plus account on Vimeo.

I finished the adaptation of a Hemingway story last week, it ended up very well, I feel I did something good that in some way or another respects Hemingway’s work. The teachers are supposedly reading through all the submitted scripts and will be choosing two to be filmed, I’m starting to doubt that they’ll pick mine, and not because it’s not good enough. I suppose my proposal of a short film doesn’t really fit with what the school is aiming for. I don’t know, but I’m really looking forward to making it. Maybe I can gather a team and make it anyways. We’ll see.

“De Golpe” is almost finished, I’m waiting on the original music to be finished and wrap the title and credits animation, but so far I’m happy with the film and what it has become. As soon as it’s finished we’ll try to promote it and get it into some festivals or whatever we can find. We think it has the potential to make something out of it.

I don’t want to believe it is coincidental that the sudden and continuous appearance of Death in the media has some strange relation to all the people around me, drowning in a glass of water.

Let’s be honest, I’ve always felt ashamed for being fascinated by guns and violence. Being parented by the most pacifist and non violent person I reckon that might be the root behind this voyeuristic amusement of weapons, although this feeling came rather late, or at least I rationalized it not so long ago, five or six years ago, when I got rid of strong, friend-related, prejudices. Might also have to do with reading The Snows of Kilimanjaro and from then on many of Hemingway’s short stories, where the glorification of war, hunt and guns feels so honest and primitive.

I think I’ll just stick with this by now and see if I develop this later on. It feels too raw and harsh for now (talk about quintessential qualities).

By the way, I’ll be adapting a story of Hemingway into a shortfilm script. Maybe I’ll mention something about it in here as soon as I stop dreaming about it, I can’t deal with oneiric voices dwelling into my writings.

My offshore travel didn’t happen at all last week. More than two years living in Argentina and I still hope things will happen when they are planned to happen. No offense meant.

Everything seems
to be on hold,
as if time itself would bend
towards itself, to keep unsatisfaction
at the highest peak of the past months.

Might be the reason of my sore throat,
or my bleeding nose,
always resurfacing.
Me unknowing of its meaning, like tricks
of light bouncing off imaginary objects.

Sometimes I fear that seasonal
feelings
could become random,
-but wouldn’t that be, a gratifying thought?,
probably for everyone
holding hopes for the inexplicable;
finding meanings
in meaningless phenomena.